by Anne Mateer
“I figure if I’ve got to meet my Maker soon, I might as well go out living instead of lying around waiting to die.”
Maybe he’d come to the right place. These kids teemed with life and energy.
“I don’t suppose you’ve given any thought to taking my sister away from all this?” Will’s teasing voice caused my head to whip in his direction, just as his gaze settled on the sheriff.
“Well . . .” Sheriff Jeffries drawled.
I tossed them both a grin as sweet as white sugar. “I’ll thank you very much to leave my life be, big brother.”
Laughter thundered from deep within Brother Latham’s chest. Sheriff Jeffries stared at his hat in his hands. Will’s mouth curled into a smile, hilarity bubbling out of lungs damaged by warfare, infected with disease. He looked young again. Full of life.
And my heart cried.
In the quiet of the early-morning chores, I told Will about Arthur, letting my silent tears soak into Ol’ Bob’s side. Will didn’t say much, but I could tell his hands itched to pummel the man who’d hurt his sister. So I set him to splitting wood instead.
“Should I tell Mama?” I asked.
Down came the axe with a thud. He threw the pieces into the pile and picked up another short log. He leaned on the axe handle and looked at me. “I wouldn’t just yet. She doesn’t need . . . disappointment right now.” He hesitated another moment. “She did ask me to bring you back home, though.”
“Oh? And are you going to try?”
He hefted his weapon and brought it down again. The wood fell into halves. He shook his head. “No. Right now these kids need you more than she does. Anyone can see that.”
I let out a long breath as Will worked. It felt good to have my brother on my side.
When Will couldn’t lift his arms overhead one more time, I set the axe in the shed and our slow steps returned to the house. While he lay recovering on the sofa, he regaled us all with stories of aerial battles and ocean crossings and encounters with British soldiers and their funny ways of saying things.
At sunset, with supper warming on the stove, I wandered out to the porch and stood behind Will’s chair, resting my hands on his shoulders. He reached up and covered my fingers with his. I smiled.
“I have to leave in the morning,” he said. “I’ll tell Mama how well you took care of me.”
I threw my arms around his neck, my cheek pressed against his. “Do you have to go? Stay here. I’ll take care of you.”
“I couldn’t do that to Mama. You know that.”
I squeezed him again before I nodded, pulled away, and knelt beside his chair, my hand clasping his. “How is Mama, Will? Really?”
“Don’t worry, Rebekah. She’s just . . . weak.” He patted my hand. “You know I won’t be staying there, either. I have things I want to see before I can’t. Like the Grand Canyon. And the Pacific Ocean. A buddy of mine from the war is going with me.”
“But can’t—”
His fingers squeezed mine. “I want you to remember me like this, Rebekah. And I want to remember you in this place. Don’t worry. You’ll get what you want one of these days. Just be patient.”
I drew in a sharp breath. How did he know what I wanted? And how did he know I’d get it? Did God give the dying special messages?
“How do you know?” The words blurted out on the breath I’d been holding.
“Because I’ve watched you. I can see in your every action that you were made for this.”
“This?” I huffed.
“It suits you. A house. A farm. Children. The husband who will give it all to you.”
I rocked back on my heels and stood. “That’s not what I want, Will.” I backed away from his startled look, my hands fidgeting with each other. “I’m going to the city. I don’t know how or when, but I won’t be tied to the seasons and the sun. Don’t get me wrong: I want a husband and a child or two of my own. But this . . . ?” I nodded toward the yard beyond the house, to the hog now in its pen, the chickens, the cow and the mules, even the fields farther beyond. “This is not what I want. I want adventure. I want . . .”
His eyes glazed over a bit. I looked away. The children’s joyful shrieks carried on the cool breeze. I wondered if memories of childhood days invaded Will’s head as they did mine. Such simple days. Days I’d once wished away, wanting to be grown up, wanting my life to begin. Now that I’d crossed that line, I wished I could go back.
Will cleared his throat, pushed to his feet, and faced me. “I’m sorry, Rebekah,” he said. “I hope you get what you want. I really do. But be careful. If France taught me anything, it’s that new experiences aren’t always what we imagine them to be.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered down the steps, leaving me to decide whether or not to throw his advice to the wind.
We all piled into the sheriff’s car the next morning and drove to the train station. A few people milled around on the platform as the train chugged into view. A lump swelled in my throat. How could I say good-bye to my brother, knowing I might never see him again?
He tousled the children’s hair and tweaked their noses one by one. When he reached for Janie, his ashen face turned slick with sweat in spite of the heatless day. I kept her in my arms and leaned her closer to him so he wouldn’t have to strain. His trembling hand caressed her cheek. I handed her to Ollie, put my hand in the crook of my brother’s arm, and walked him across the platform to the waiting railway car.
“I’ll miss . . .” The tears insisted on flowing.
He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped my face. “Don’t cry, little sister. I’ve made my peace with God. I’m ready.”
“But I’m not,” I whispered. “If you . . . die . . . I’ll be all alone. Just me and Mama and Daddy.”
“You’ll be fine,” he said. “You’ve always been the strongest of us all.”
I had?
He chuckled as he lifted my chin and stared into my eyes. “You have no idea.”
A quick hug; then he disappeared into the train. I watched him through the windows as he found a seat away from the platform and stared out the window. The train whistled, groaned, and inched forward. I waved until the caboose pulled past the platform, even though Will never turned to look. Only as the train snaked out of sight did I notice Sheriff Jeffries by my side.
December arrived. Would Frank be home in time for Christmas? I guessed no. Besides Will, no soldiers had returned to Prater’s Junction, though the newspapers predicted the first of our boys would arrive home before the month ended. I didn’t know what to think about Frank coming home. Almost two weeks had passed without a letter from him.
Could he have been injured just before the armistice? Or maybe, like Will, poison gases made him ill—too ill to write or travel.
Then one afternoon I pulled an envelope from the box and Frank’s familiar handwriting stared up at me.
Miss Hendricks,
Thank you for your letter telling of my family. For a little while after I heard of Adabelle’s passing, I still received her regular letters. And then I figured I’d have nothing. But your note arrived, and with it, I found hope again. Sometimes I wonder if you are an angel instead of a woman, to step in and take care of my kids, my house, with no tie to us other than your aunt’s kindness to our family.
She talked about you. Did you know that? She missed you and your brother, hated the falling out with her sister, although she never mentioned the cause. I think she pretended my family was hers. And that was fine with us, for Clara and I didn’t have anyone, either. I guess she was as close to a grandmother as my children will ever know. Sorry for rambling on so. Not what you expect of a letter from a stranger, I imagine.
What I really wrote to say is that I’m due to ship out for the States soon. After a few days of debriefing at a military base, I’ll make my way home. You can bet I’ll be looking for the quickest way. I’d hate to disrupt your life any longer than necessary.
Sincerely,
Frank Gresham
I scanned a separate page addressed to the children as I wiped the inexplicable wet from my cheeks. Frank was on his way home. The thought thrilled and terrified. Before, his homecoming had meant freedom to go to Arthur. Now I didn’t know what it meant. I only knew I had no desire to go back to Downington.
My eyes locked on the date scribbled at the top of the page: November 18, 1918. A quick count of days told me he could arrive anytime. I needed to come up with some kind of plan for my future. And fast.
I read Frank’s letter to the children before bed, told them he’d probably already started on his journey home. The boys looked a bit confused, but Ollie’s eyes took on the brilliance of stars in the night sky. She sat up with me after the other children lay abed. I leaned my head against the back of the sofa and closed my eyes, my insides wiggling like kittens in a sack.
“Tell me about school today, Ollie.” I felt her curl her body into mine. I draped my arm around her, pulled her close.
“Garland Winston carved his initials in a tree with Nola Jean’s at recess. She acted mad, but I think she liked it.”
I lifted my head and opened my eyes. “Nola Jean’s not nearly old enough to concern herself with such things.”
Ollie shrugged. “She’s mostly grown. Almost fourteen. Mama married Daddy when she wasn’t much older than Nola Jean.”
Irene had said Clara and Frank married young, but she’d never managed to reveal much of anything else. “Tell me about your mama and your daddy.”
Ollie stared into a far corner of the room, squinting, as if to remember. “Mama was fifteen years old when she met Daddy. She said she knew right away she’d marry him. She said something in his eyes told her, something deep down. Something he didn’t even know yet. That’s what she said.”
Something in his eyes. I thought I’d read something in Arthur’s eyes, too. Maybe I couldn’t judge men as rightly as I imagined I could. And yet I read real friendship in the sheriff’s manner, and that had proven true. What would I read in Frank Gresham’s eyes?
“Anyway, Mama’s house was full of kids and empty of money. That’s what she said. So when Daddy asked her to marry him, she did. They left the day she turned sixteen and never went back.”
“What did her family say?” I couldn’t imagine surviving Mama’s wrath if I had done such a thing.
Ollie shrugged. “Her brothers and sisters all went other places, and I think her mama got sick and died. Don’t know about her daddy. She never said.”
I pondered the history of Clara and Frank, two youngsters embarking on a life all of their own making. The type of adventure I craved so much. Were they pleased with how their lives turned out?
Ollie slid off the sofa and gave me a small smile. “I think I’ll go to sleep now.”
I pulled her close, kissed her forehead, and sent her on her way. But it was a long while before I could stir myself to put out the lamp and climb the stairs to bed.
Late that night, my feet pattered the floor of my bedroom. Back and forth. Back and forth. The heavy braid down my back swung with each movement, like the pendulum on the clock at home, ticking away the time. Every now and then I shivered, even though I wore my flannel gown and the window sash sat firmly against the sill.
Frank might arrive tomorrow. Or next week. Almost surely by next month. I chewed my thumbnail down past the round tip of flesh. I paused to listen to the still night, hoping the audible voice of God suddenly would give me clear direction. But only a whippoorwill called in the distance.
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to hold back tears of despair. My coming here had been God’s doing. I never once doubted that. But now it seemed He’d made a mockery of all my dreams. I’d asked for a fish and He’d given me a snake.
I sank back into my bed, pulling the quilt close around me and wondered what advice Irene would give if I asked. A foolish question, really. I already knew how she’d answer. She’d ask if I’d heard from the Lord on the matter.
Pulling my braid over my shoulder, I stroked the tail end, wrapping and unwrapping the curl of hair around my index finger. She’d likely tell me to be patient, to stay still until I knew which way the Lord said to go. At least that’s what I’d heard her tell another woman at church. Another directionless woman—only that one had been widowed by influenza.
I flopped onto my back and yanked the covers over my head, wishing all my problems would just vanish, that the Lord would whisk me away to another place, like He did with Phillip after he’d baptized the Ethiopian eunuch in the book of Acts. I huffed and curled onto my side, pulling my knees to my chest. There was more chance that Arthur would land his plane in the cotton field and take me away than that.
Did I need to search the Scriptures more diligently? Pray more earnestly? I’d done so much thinking and planning, planning and thinking in the past year that maybe Irene was right: Maybe I needed to just be patient and listen.
The words of Frank’s first letter to me drifted to mind, his belief that even in something as grievous as death the Lord had a plan for good. I wanted to believe that with more than just my head, but I didn’t understand why Aunt Adabelle had to die or why Mama and Will had to get sick or why Arthur didn’t keep his promises. But perhaps understanding didn’t matter as much as I imagined. Perhaps that was the true definition of faith.
Ollie stood beside me, shaking my shoulder in the sunshine-flooded room. “Rebekah, wake up. I can’t find James anywhere.”
I wiped the sleep from my eyes and sat up, her words barely making sense to my befuddled brain. Then they crystallized. I stretched my arms over my head, unconcerned.
“I’m sure he’s in the privy or in the barn with Ol’ Bob. You know he thinks he can milk her all by himself.”
Ollie’s mouth turned downward. “He’s not either of those places. I looked.”
My feet hit the floor as I rubbed my face. “I’m sure you just missed him. You went to one place while he was in the other.”
“I don’t think so.”
I patted her hand and stood. “Let me get dressed. I wager he’ll turn up when he smells breakfast cooking.”
But even the smell of bacon didn’t draw him out. Worry tangled itself around my heart like climbing roses on a trellis. Where had that boy gotten to now? I served breakfast to the other three, trying to restrain my concern. Maybe he’d crawled up in the barn loft and fallen asleep. Or maybe he’d gone to the creek. Alone. I sucked in a breath as I let a prayer run through my head. Please God, let him be safe. Just let him be safe.
“Ollie, keep Janie here. Dan and I are going to find your brother.”
She gave me a wary look as she wiped—or tried to wipe—Janie’s gravy-smeared face. “What about school?”
“I’m sure we’ll be back by the time you need to leave.” I grabbed Dan by the hand. “I think your brother is playing a game of hide-and-seek.”
“I could eat up his bacon from breakfast, you know,” Dan said.
“I’m sure you could, big boy, but why don’t we wait just a while longer. In fact, why don’t we go find James now? I’m sure you know all his best hiding places.”
“C’mon.” He pulled. I stumbled after him, still hanging on to his hand, a smile tugging at my lips. See? No cause to worry. Dan would lead me directly to James.
Two hours later, Dan scratched his head as I tried to rub feeling into my frozen nose.
“Are you sure those are all the good hiding places you know?” I asked for the thousandth time.
“I’m sure.” His little face screwed up in concentration.
Worry choked me, but anger started pruning it back. Where was that boy? When I found him, I’d tan his hide for scaring me like this, not to mention wasting a whole morning and keeping Ollie from going to school.
I stared into the distance, wishing I knew which way to go. A half mile to the east and we’d come to the Latham’s house. Two miles west and we’d end up in town.
“James!” I called
as loud as I could. “James Gresham, you get home this instant!”
What if he was home? My shoulders drooped. No matter which direction we searched next, we’d have to tromp back to the house first and see if he was there.
“Let’s go, Dan.” This time I pulled him, his feet dragging, his head sagging.
Still no sign of James back at the house. Ollie’s big eyes revealed her fright. I took Janie from her, knowing the baby needed a nap, but knowing also that Ollie needed my presence. We’d have to search together now, in spite of the littler ones’ exhaustion.
Town would be the best option, I decided. More people to fan out and search if we didn’t find him there. But he had to be there. He just had to. Fear and worry wove themselves around each other like two colors of yarn knitted into a blanket.
I picked up three teacakes, one for each child, and changed Janie’s diaper before we took off again. The trip seemed to take hours as the sun rose higher in the sky. My anger popped and sizzled like butter in a hot skillet as my stomach rumbled with hunger. I’d send him to his room for a week. Make him do extra chores, even help in the kitchen with the cooking and the dishes. Hold him tight and never let go.
If only I could find him.
Sheriff Jeffries sat on the corner of his desk, two men I didn’t know standing near him, hands in their pockets. The conversation stopped when he stood and looked my way.
The moment I saw his face, my mad dissolved into terror. “I need help.”
In two strides he stood before me, his lips pressed into a tight line, concern visible in his eyes. He laid gentle hands on my shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
“We can’t find James anywhere. We’ve been searching all morning.” Desperation streaked each word. Dan hid himself behind my skirt. Ollie and Janie both began to cry. I wanted to join them, but I forced myself to calm.